"No; she's out," replied the Flopper.

"Well, hurry up!" said Madison. "Come around in front by the trellis
where we can see the other fellow first if anybody happens to be
strolling about."

Madison withdrew from the window and walked around to the front of the
cottage. Here, a few yards from the porch, by the trellis, already
beginning to be leafy green, was a rustic bench on which he seated
himself. The moon was not full, but there was light enough to enable him
to see across the lawn through the interposing row of maples, and,
hidden by the shadows himself, the seat strategetically met his
requirements.

Presently, the Flopper came out of the front door and joined him.

"Say, Doc," announced the Flopper abruptly, "de Patriarch's been askin'
fer youse yesterday an' to-day."

"Asking?" repeated Madison.

"Sure," said the Flopper. "He can scrawl if he is blind, can't he? He
scrawls yer name on de slate. We can't tell him nothin', an' he's kinder
got de fidgets like he t'inks youse had flown de coop."

"That's so," said Madison. "It is rather difficult to communicate with
him, isn't it? I guess we'll have to get him some raised letters."

"What's them?" inquired the Flopper.